


The Many Lives of Jared Padalecki

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:24:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared has a way of stumbling across opportunities ass-over-elbows.  Usually landing on his head, occasionally ending in a hospital visit.  But if he survives?  It'll all work out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Many Lives of Jared Padalecki

**Author's Note:**

> AU for **spn_reversebang**. I was **expectative** 's author. I have been to this area of Seattle, but am obviously taking a few liberties. **cottoncandy_bingo** : "honesty."
> 
> [Check out the art here!](http://expectative.livejournal.com/48585.html) Thanks to dollarformyname for the beta.

When the sparks fade and Jared's vision returns, he's horizontal and regretting many things. The back of his head is pounding and his tongue is sore — he probably bit it when he bit the dust. He instantly regrets running on Saturday mornings, when the park is crowded and there are more people to maneuver around.

But then the colorful blobs he's seeing slowly morph into the most gorgeous man he's ever laid eyes on, and Jared _regrets nothing, ever._

"Hey man, you all right?" the stranger asks, and Jared tries not to choke on his bleeding tongue because the _voice._ That sexy a voice should not be legally permissible inside that sexy a guy.

"Habba?" Jared slurs spectacularly, and would kick himself if he wasn't already concussed.

A flicker of amusement crosses that perfect pair of green eyes. "You took a nasty dive. Looks like you were out for a second. Does anything hurt?"

"My pride," Jared manages, now aware of the other guys staring at him. They've given Sexy Stranger a wide berth, as though Jared is some kind of crime scene. This is embarrassing as hell.

"Pride's easy to hurt, it'll be fine. How about the rest of you?" The stranger pokes and prods, checking Jared's pupils and making him follow an index finger. "What's your name? Do you know where you are?"

"Jared," he replies, swallowing. "Jared Padalecki. Uh, I'm in City Hill Park. I think I can sit up, actually," he adds, and manages to do just that.

"There you go," Sexy Stranger encourages, brushing pebbles and dirt from his back. "So you feel okay? Maybe you should see a doctor."

Jared shakes his head and is immediately punished for it. He winces; the stranger quirks a grin. "Nah, it's cool. I've got a really hard head."

Sexy Stranger stands up, giving Jared a full-length view of slim, well toned perfection. Track pants and white t-shirts have never looked so good. "Can you stand?" he asks, offering a hand.

"Sure," Jared says, reaching through a fog. He tries not to die of glee when Sexy Stranger pulls him to his feet. And if he lets the hand-holding go on a second or two longer than necessary, well, too bad. "Thanks."

"No problem," the stranger replies, giving Jared an appraising look. Now that they're both standing, Jared is actually looking down at him. Jared thinks of what he could do to prolong this meeting: ask for his number, invite him for thank-you coffee, grab his face and suck his tongue out of it — but then Harley and Sadie break through the throng of people, looking pleased as punch.

The rugged, stocky man holding their leashes gives him a nod. "Hey there, son. Found your pups. How's the head?"

"Fine, thanks." Jared takes the leashes back. "And thank you for chasing them down." He gives Harley a pointed look; the dog at least pretends to look contrite.

"No trouble," the other man says, hooking his longer hair behind his ears. "We good here, Jenny? Ready to play?"

Jared's gaze flickers back over to Sexy Stranger. He nods. "Yeah, Chris, be there in a sec."

Chris gives Jared a little wave, pats Sadie on the flank, and heads off. The other guys go with him, and then Jared finally registers the basketball court. The rest of the park has long since decided that Jared's fall was not that exciting, so now they're virtually alone.

Jenny nods to his dogs. "Do they normally conspire to murder you, or are they just excited today?"

"Break in routine," Jared explains, reaching down to scratch Harley behind the ears. "Normally we run Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Not usually out on Saturday mornings, and Harley is easily distracted by shiny people."

"Ah," Jenny demurs, glancing back to the guys. "From the way you crashed our court, I thought you were Misha's replacement. You're definitely tall enough, and it sucks having one of us sit out half the time."

And maybe it's an honest, spiritual connection between them — or maybe it's just the way Jared wants to lick up the column of Jenny's throat. One of these has Jared opening his mouth before he can think of the consequences.

"I am Misha's replacement!" He shrugs one shoulder sheepishly when Jenny raises an eyebrow. "Not a great first impression, I know. That's why I'm out here today."

"With your dogs," Jenny says, his tone flat.

Jared is undeterred. "Yup."

"You were going to play basketball with your dogs."

He grins, too far gone now to backpedal. "Well, yeah. I mean, I wouldn't _play_ with them — though, man, you should see Sadie on defense, she is awesome." This prompts a smile, and Jared revels in it. "I was gonna run with the dogs, then tie them up and let 'em rest while I hooked up with you guys. After I gave them some water, they'd be more than happy to lie around and watch us play." He rubs the back of his head. "I lost track of time, though. Typical me."

Jenny still looks suspicious, looking Jared up and down like he's hiding something. Which, well, fair enough. But then he only shrugs. "Not a problem. Listen, I don't think you should play after a fall like that. Don't rattle anything around in there." His features melt into incredibly attractive concern. "Maybe today you should just go home, take it easy, and we'll make do. Join us next week at 10?"

"Deal," Jared says, extending his hand for a shake. "Nice to meet you, Jenny."

"Ugh," Jenny sighs, his grip strong and firm. "Please, just Jensen. Or Jen, if you gotta. Don't let Chris fool you; I hate that nickname."

"Gotcha," Jared replies with a grin. "Jensen. Say, can I get your number?" he adds, digging out his phone. "In case something happens or whatever."

"Oh, sure." Jensen gestures vaguely to the court. "I'd get yours, but my phone's in my bag over there."

"Not a problem," Jared assures him, grinning like an idiot as Jensen enters his information.

"See you next week," Jensen says, jogging back onto the court.

"Yeah," Jared calls, turning away so he can ogle the new entry in his contacts. _Jensen Ackles._ Also known as _fucking perfection._ And Jared is in. He's got a name, a number — jesus, even a _date._ Sort of. With a bunch of other men. _But still._

There's really only one problem: he has no idea who Misha is.

***

Actually, there are two problems.

"You hate basketball," Chad reminds him. "More importantly, you _suck at it._ "

"I'm not that bad," Jared protests, cracking open another beer and flicking the cap at his friend.

Chad doesn't bother deflecting it, but only because he's watching the screen with rapt attention. Nicholas Cage is having an epic staring match with John Malcovich. _Con Air_ is _hilarious._ "You are. It's like the universe's cruelest joke. 'Let's make this one guy eight feet tall. Now let's make him _incapable of dribbling_.' Dramatization," Chad adds professionally, folding his hands in his lap. "Events may not have transpired exactly as they've been portrayed."

"I can dribble," Jared points out, taking a swig of his beer.

"If you mean what you are doing right now, with the beer running down your chin? Yes, you are good at that." He continues sagely despite Jared's squawks. "But if you mean bouncing a ball up and down a basketball court? Not so much."

"It's just a friendly Saturday morning pastime," Jared points out, exasperated. "We're not trying out for the NHL or anything, god."

Chad winces. "Okay, the NHL is for _hockey_ , and you are so screwed."

"Well, what was I supposed to do? I had to think fast!"

"Shoulda just gone for it." Chad gives him a sidelong glance. "You should've just come out with, 'you're really hot, can I get your number?'"

Jared rubs his eyes, because yes, that would have been simpler. "What if he isn't into guys?"

"Then he would have said, 'I'm not into guys.' God, Jared." Chad shakes his head. "You are now living a charade. A charade in which you are friends with a Russian dude and awesome at basketball, all so you can maybe see what you perceive as perfection one more time. You know, before he figures it out."

"It's not perception," Jared insists. "Chad, seriously, this guy is amazing. He's got these green eyes and these plump, perfect lips. He's tall and solid, but he's got this tiny waist you can get your arms around." He sits up straighter, mapping it out with his hands. "And he's got just a hint of stubble, just along his jaw. He could be an underwear model. Oh man, do you think he's an underwear model? God, I hope he's an underwear model."

Chad snorts. "I hope so, too. You'll need something to look at when the restraining order is filed."

Jared sighs, huge shoulders slumping. "Look, I know it's stupid. This is a mess. For all I know, Jensen's already spoken to this Misha guy and is worried I'm skulking somewhere outside his apartment. But he seems really nice, and I like him — so tell me everything I need to know about basketball."

Chad makes a face. "What the hell do I know about basketball? My closest brush with the sport after high school was when I dated that varsity cheerleader, Chantal. She gave me an A, if you know what I mean."

"I really don't," Jared confesses.

"Look, man. Basketball is simple: bounce the ball, don't tackle anyone, get the ball in the other basket. If you suck at that, not much you can do. What you really have to worry about is explaining yourself to Perfect Lips. The longer it goes on, the worse it is. Like a tired sitcom plot coming to a head at the sixteen-minute mark."

Jared purses his lips, considering. He has Jensen's number; maybe he should just fess up now. Or is that way tacky? Maybe in person would be better.

Yeah, in person.

***

The Monday morning Starbucks crowd is Hell on Earth, and Jared decides he is never covering for Genevieve again. He hasn't stopped since six o'clock, swiping debit cards, approving credit cards, and writing names he doesn't know how to spell on paper cups. Normally, Jared works the afternoon shift and is glad for it. Their Starbucks is on Fourth, between Spring and Seneca and right next to Pike; it's _always_ busy, but the morning white collar rush is legendary.

He scribbles "Trinidad" on some guy's cup, calls out his order and shoves it into Shelley's waiting hands. Forcing a fresh, friendly smile on his face, he turns back and says, "Next. What can I get you?"

And then he almost dies.

"Jared?" Jensen laughs, lighting up his entire beautiful form, and jesus christ he's wearing a _suit._ A black suit with a mint green shirt and dark green tie and his eyes are just popping right out of his face. Jared's standing here with floppy hair, jeans that haven't been washed in a week, and a green apron. "I didn't know you worked here." He turns and tugs the man behind him forward. "Misha, you didn't tell me your basketball friend worked here."

Jared's gaze flickers to Misha, his BFF who may or may not actually be Russian. Misha is just as impeccably dressed as Jensen, and judging from the way his eyebrow quirks, Jared's guessing the panicked, pleading look on his face is a memorable one. Thankfully, Jensen's scanning the fall specialties and doesn't appear to have noticed.

Apparently, Jared and Misha were friends in another life, because the dark-haired man says, "He's a friend of a friend, actually, so I don't really know too much about him. I just knew he was tall." He pulls out a twenty and orders two pumpkin spice lattes, despite Jensen's feeble protests.

Jared is both ecstatic and disappointed that he doesn't have time to chat. "I'm sorry Saturday didn't work out," he says as he punches the order in and scrawls their names on cups. "This one, for sure — and I'll leave the dogs at home this time."

"Probably a good idea," Jensen agrees, heading over to the other end of the counter.

Misha lingers, making a show of counting his change. His blue eyes are as intense as Jensen's green. Jared feels like they're boring right through him.

"Thanks," he says hurriedly, clasping his hands together.

"Don't," Misha waves the gratitude away. "We helped each other out, actually. I got caught up at the office late Friday and forgot to call my friend. Then I worked all weekend, you know how it goes. I was hoping the conversation just wouldn't go there," he laughs, stuffing his wallet back into his coat. "Besides, I'm a benevolent being. I know love when I see it."

"Um," Jared says.

Misha leans over the counter and grabs Jared's wrist. "And yes, he's gay."

"Thank you, god," Jared exhales.

Misha chuckles and straightens, adjusting his coat. "Just Misha Collins, but an easy mistake to make."

"Er," Jared says.

***

Jared would have thought this Monday was eventful enough, having his new crush waltz into his Starbucks while he was working the register. Never mind Jensen's colleague slipping effortlessly into Jared's lie and freaking _encouraging_ it. But no, Monday isn't finished.

Like clockwork, Danneel glides in at precisely eleven a.m. As usual, she looks like she just came from a Chanel photo-shoot. She is rocking the black pencil skirt, fitted jacket, and her purple blouse matches her pumps. Her red hair is pulled back and up, out of her green scarf's way. She gives Jared and whitest, sunniest smile when she dumps her Prada purse on the counter.

"Venti skinny vanilla," she orders with a wink.

Jared may be gay, but he's not dead. Danneel is goddamn gorgeous. Genevieve certainly thinks so, having referred to her as Sex-on-Legs until learning her name. And also afterward.

As he's ringing it up, Danneel asks, "Where's the girl who's usually here?"

Jared freezes. He doesn't notice Danneel holding out her debit card until she pointedly shakes it. "Uh, she had something to take care of. I'm just replacing her today."

Danneel purses her shimmering lips. "Oh, too bad. Tell her I said hi."

It's out before Jared can stop it. "She really likes you."

"Does she?" Danneel doesn't skip a beat, shooting Jared a coy smile. "Well, I think she's very sweet."

Gen is going to kill him, but this is too good to pass up. "Her name's Genevieve."

Danneel full-out grins, grabbing the pen they keep by the register and one of the napkins. She scribbles her number down by hand — classic. "Tell her to call me, and if she wants, meet me Wednesday at nine, at Wildrose."

Jared nods, accepting the napkin with a dopey smile on his face. The day keeps getting better and better.

***

That night, Jared cooks spaghetti with homemade sauce, garlic bread, and makes them eat in the kitchen instead of on the couch watching television.

"This better be good," Chad threatens. "There's like, eight episodes of _CSI_ on right now."

Jared raises his champagne flute. "I've asked you all here today—"

"There are only two of us here, Jared," Gen points out, wryly.

"I live here," Chad adds.

"I've asked you both here today," Jared continues, "because I have two very important announcements to make. One: I may have accidentally literally fallen head-over-heels in love with a man who thinks I can play basketball thanks to my Russian best friend."

Gen says, "What," and Chad gives her a look that means _I know, right?_

"Second, I got Gen a date with Sex-on-Legs."

Gen says, "What?!"

"Notice the subtle change in tone," Chad begins, and Gen throws the pepper shaker at his head.

"Jared!" she snaps, mortified. "What did you do? How did you even do that?"

"She likes you," Jared sing-songs, presenting the napkin like a revered prize. "She asked about you, and I put in a good word. She wants to meet at the Wildrose on Wednesday."

Gen stares at the digits, holding the napkin with shaky hands. "I'm going to die. Jared, I'm going to see her _tomorrow morning._ "

He grins. "So you can RSVP in person."

"Sweep her off her feet," Chad advises. "Girls love that. Personalize her latte cup. Stick your tongue in it before you give it to her."

"Stop talking," Gen tells him.

Jared sits down and puts an arm around Gen's shoulders. "You'll be fine. Gen, this gorgeous woman asked about _you._ She's the one who asked you out on a date."

"I work as a barista," Gen says softly.

"So what? Everyone appreciates a nice hot drink, right?"

"Right," Chad chips in. "Especially served by a nice hot drink, am I right?"

Gen feigns exasperation, but she's smiling now. "Will you come with me? Just for moral support? You can bail if we hit it off, but I don't want to leave alone."

Jared gives her a squeeze. "You won't be leaving alone. Odds are you'll be leaving with Danneel."

"A girl can dream," Gen chuckles. She wiggles her champagne flute. "Could I get some more Coke?"

Chad scrambles out of his chair to block the fridge. "Ma'am, I think you've had enough."

"I'll tell you when I've had enough!" Gen yells, and Jared goes to put the garlic bread in a basket.

While they eat, Jared gives Gen the Cliff's Notes version of his Jensen problem. He tops it off with seeing Jensen and Misha this morning.

"Oh, honey," Gen tsks, shaking her head. "That's … stupid romantic comedies start like this. He's going to think you're a creeper when he finds out."

Jared winces. "No, no, because I'm going to explain everything when I see him on Saturday. I'll confess I was struck stupid by his perfection, really wanted to see him again, and we'll both laugh at what a loser I am, and then we'll get married."

"Oh yeah," Chad says. "Nothing could possibly go wrong."

***

At ten fifty-eight, Genevieve considers running out the back door. She doesn't, but only because she's currently the only one out front. When Danneel floats through the door, Genevieve smiles as politely as she can and resists the urge to dig a hole to China.

"Venti skinny vanilla," Danneel purrs, tapping a manicured nail against the counter.

"Coming right up," Genevieve replies, averting her gaze. She goes to make the drink herself, exhaling deeply once she's behind the machines. _Get it together,_ she scolds herself. _Danneel likes you._

Even if she didn't believe Jared, Genevieve can feel Danneel's eyes on her. Scrounging up her nerves, she grabs a cup, scribbles ten digits and a _YES_ along the side, and makes sure their fingers brush when she slides the drink across the counter.

Danneel's naughty smile is the only answer she gives, and Genevieve thinks about it all day.

***

Wildrose is predominantly a lesbian bar, but it doesn't discriminate. Jared orders an appletini and a Brandy Alexander and gives the latter to Gen. She looks amazing, decked out snug black pants, a silver top, with pumps and bangles to match. Her hair is pulled away from her face, but falls over her shoulders.

"You're a knockout," he tells her sincerely. "Any girl here would be lucky to take you home."

"I hope you're right," she says quietly, "because I'm really interested in that one." Then she's sitting up straighter and lifting a hand in greeting.

Jared turns around — and yeah, Danneel is headed their way and the sea has parted for her, but Jared barely keeps his jaw from dropping when he sees who she's with.

Jensen looks just as surprised, eyes settling squarely on Jared once they reach the table. Danneel and Jensen even coordinated their outfits, unless neither one could resist wearing black slacks and metallic green tops.

"Jared?" Jensen asks.

Jared laughs. It sounds uneasy to his own ears. "Small world," he quips. "Gen, this is Jensen."

To her credit, she doesn't burst out laughing. On the outside, anyway. "Hi, nice to meet you. Danneel, this is my friend Jared."

"I remember," Danneel replies, winking at him. She glances at Jensen, then back at Jared. "If you boys want to head somewhere else, I wouldn't blame you."

It's as subtle a dismissal as Jared assumes he's going to get, so he downs his drink and stands. "I could eat, actually. What do you say, Jen?"

Jensen glances back at Danneel, communicating silently through their eyes. Or maybe their shirts. "Sure," he says, pulling out a chair for Danneel. "Nice to meet you, Genevieve. Later, Dani."

Jared starts walking before he loses his nerve. God, he hopes he's not sweating. He's wearing a white dress shirt but doesn't have a jacket. He doesn't look back until he's outside, and suppresses a sigh of relief when he finds Jensen has followed him out. "I'm not really hungry," he confesses, shoving his hands in the pockets of his stone-colored jeans. "Just wanted to give the girls an out."

Jensen smiles. "It's cool, I figured. Guess they didn't need the buffer zone, after all."

"Moral support?"

"Moral support."

They stand there for a few moments, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, watching patrons wander in and out. Finally Jared asks, "How do you know Danneel?"

"Old friend," Jensen says. "We used to be inseparable until we got jobs. Even now, she doesn't work far from me."

"Where's that?"

"Kripke & Morgan."

Jared's tongue gets stuck in his throat. Hot, athletic, and a fucking lawyer. "I work at Starbucks," he offers lamely. Then he remembers that Jensen knows that, and considers banging his head against the lamppost for an hour.

Jensen only smiles. "I know." He doesn't immediately make an escape, though, which is probably more than Jared deserves at this point.

He tries forcing himself to calm down. Jensen's just a guy, in the end. "So um, did you want to maybe go somewhere?" Oh, goddamn it. He knows how to pick up men, he really does. He must have left it in his other pants.

"The bars gouge us enough," Jensen says smoothly. "Want to head back to my place? I've got a mean liquor cabinet. Cheaper, too."

Jared gives him a grin that he hopes isn't manic or overeager. "Sounds good."

Jensen points his thumb over his shoulder. "You got a car? Dani drove tonight, so she could impress her new girlfriend if the night goes well."

It's like a switch has been flipped, and Jared wants to disappear again. "Uh … I've got a Raptor," he says. "I don't, um, I don't think it fits two. Not if we want to get anywhere, anyway." He and Gen had arrived separately, and of course Jared picked today to drive his bike.

Jensen shrugs. "Not a problem. It isn't even that far, just faster to drive. You want to walk? Or I could cab it and you could take your bike?"

Jared has no idea how he would make it through Capitol Hill without walking into a post. Not while talking to the man of his dreams. "Might as well give me your address. That way I can leave straight from your place." _Maybe in the morning, ahaha. Ha. Oh, god._

Jensen looks him right in the eye, and for one horrifying moment Jared thinks he said that last part out-loud. But Jen only rattles off his address and hails a taxi.

***

Jensen's condo is only a few blocks from Wildrose, and Jared openly gapes at its interior while Jensen bustles around. Its layout would be modern and clinical if not for the little bits of warmth Jensen has stashed about. The stainless steel appliances are covered in cheesy magnets and pictures of friends. The kitchen island sports a hideously gaudy centerpiece that was clearly a gift from a nephew or something. The black leather couch is wearing Grandma's custom-made knit blanket. There's a guitar in the corner by the bookcase and the coffee table is littered with _Outdoor Photography_ and _Sports Illustrated_.

Yeah, Jared might be a little in love with this man.

"What can I get you?" Jensen asks.

"Scotch on the rocks," Jared replies, swallowing hard. He sinks onto the couch and stares at the giant flatscreen TV.

Jensen joins him, handing him his drink. Jared sips; the ice clinks loudly in the silence. "So," he has to clear his throat, "you're a lawyer?"

"Yeah, but it's very boring and a lot of work." Jensen shrugs. "What about you? What's your story?"

 _I lied about wanting to be in your basketball club because I wanted an excuse to see you again._ He wants to say it, he really does. But what comes out is, "Do you believe in fate?"

Jensen blinks at him. "I … what?"

"Fate," Jared repeats. "Not like, hey, your life is all planned out already so don't bother trying. More like, hey, I'm just gonna toss these random chips on the board and see where they fall. If you notice them, good for you. If not, what a shame."

Jensen is staring at him like he's suggested the sky was green, drink halfway to his perfect lips.

Jared's on a roll now. He puts his drink on the table so he'll stop waving it around. "It's just, Jensen, before Saturday I didn't even really know you existed. Now you keep popping up wherever I go. Seriously, what are the chances of that? Our best friends are dating!"

"It is a little creepy," Jensen allows, still eyeing Jared warily.

"You show up at my workplace, you show up at the bar. We don't even live that far apart, or work that far apart, and we're both gay. Don't you feel like the universe is trying to tell us something?"

Jensen cocks his head, curious. "How did you know I was gay?"

This brings Jared up short, not wanting to lie again but unwilling to betray Misha. He covers his misstep by shooting Jensen what he hopes is a sultry glance. "Are you telling me you aren't?"

"Jared." Jensen sets his glass on one of the magazines and threads his fingers together. "What are _you_ telling me?"

"I like you," Jared admits. "You're smart and hot and charming and I want to take you to dinner and order you wine and then come back here so I can shove you against the fridge and ruin the layout of all your magnets."

"Jared," Jensen raises a hand to forestall anything else, "you don't even know me."

"No," Jared agrees, sliding across the couch as close as he dares. "But I want to." And that's it, that's all he's got. He's spent. Ball's in Jensen's court now. For a long minute, the silence in the condo is deafening and Jared's afraid he's going to get thrown out.

Then the opposite happens. Also, Jensen's a face-grabber.

 

Later, Jared's lying on his back on the couch, recovering from what's a contender for the hottest kissing session he's ever had. Jensen's draped on top of him, and doesn't seem to mind that Jared can't stop sucking on his earlobe. Jared's shirt is somewhere on the floor. Jensen's is still on, albeit nominally. It's untucked and unbuttoned, and Jared's hands have been underneath the silk for at least half an hour.

"It's getting late," Jensen murmurs, finally shifting.

"Yeah," Jared sighs. He's going to jack the fuck out of himself once he gets home. Jensen will probably go for it as soon as Jared leaves. It would have been so easy just to tumble into Jensen's bedroom, but they both don't want to rush it. Blue balls notwithstanding, it's nice to be on the same page about that.

They untangle and Jared shrugs his shirt back on. Jensen walks him to the door and they end up saying goodbye for another five minutes. The doorframe digs painfully into Jared's shoulder but he doesn't mind.

"See you Saturday," Jensen whispers when they part.

Jared's stomach sinks. "Yeah, Saturday." He forces a smile and ducks out, closing the door behind him.

_Fuck._

***

"You didn't _tell him?_ " Chad exclaims. "How could you not tell him? You had all night!" He's making his lunch as he yells, tossing Twinkies and Pop-Tarts into an old plastic bag.

"We really hit it off," Jared offers weakly. Riveting conversation is a totally valid reason for perpetuating a lie, right? Shit. "I just. Chad. I really like him."

"That's great," his friend replies. "That's awesome. But your relationship's foundation is built on a pile of filthy lies."

Jared gives him a baleful stare. "You once told a woman you were a Russian spy."

"I did," Chad admits sagely. "But I'm generally a douchebag. You usually aren't. We can't have this buddy comedy thing if you don't play by the rules, Jay."

Jared takes a sip of his orange juice. "It's not like it's such a bad lie. So I pretended to be someone's friend of a friend. I didn't commit actual identity theft. Misha's real friend is out there. Missing a sexy basketball game, mind you."

Chad double-knots the bag's handles and fixes Jared with a firm stare. "Jay, I don't know if the queers do this differently, because I'm not allowed in gay bars around here anymore—"

"I told you the packing tape was a bad idea," Jared sighs.

"—but it's not that you told a little white lie. It's that you played a trick to worm your way in, instead of perving on your own merits."

Jared winces. "Classy."

"If you're willing to lie about something so insignificant, if you're okay with casual dishonesty from the get-go, what does that say about you? Seriously, man. At best, you are an insecure, clingy dork who sucks at basketball. At worst, you are a creepy stalker who lies to get men into bed. Who sucks at basketball."

Jared had been steadily withdrawing at every word, curling in on himself. He tries to hide behind his orange juice. "I don't want to be any of those things," he whimpers.

"I know ya don't, buddy. That's why you gotta come clean. That's why you should have come clean last night."

Jared bites his lip. "I sort of had my tongue down his throat."

"Great," Chad says dryly. "That's great. Where's Gen? Get her on the phone. She normally handles this sort of talky thing. Can't count on anyone," he mutters. "This is a terrible film."

Despite his own crisis, Jared finds himself grinning. "She didn't call or text me. I think Gen scored, and went home with Sex-on-Legs. I mean Danneel. She might even have gone straight to work from there."

Chad lets out a low whistle and grabs his poor excuse for a lunch. "Sweet. Lesbians, man — they got it all figured out. I don't gotta tell Gen nothin'." He swats Jared across the back of the head. "You're my disappointing gay friend."

"Nice talk, dude," Jared says, staring mournfully into his juice.

***

At ten-thirty on Thursday morning, Misha saunters into Jensen's office and asks, "Could you imagine a world without lawyers? Full of peace and love and everyone talking out their differences like civilized people?"

"It's horrifying," Jensen agrees absently, still reading through his e-mail. There was a problem with the server that Chris only just resolved and now the new messages just kept pouring in.

Misha plops down in one of the chairs and steeples his fingers. Jensen ignores him; Misha likes pretending he's a corrupt, evil overlord and Jensen isn't going to get in the middle of that. Especially not when the alternative is doing questionable things to Jensen's LaserJet.

"When's your meeting?" Jensen asks. Misha's staring at him and it's starting to get weird.

"At quarter-past eleven." Misha licks his bottom lip. "So what was that at Starbucks?"

Jensen suppresses a sigh. "It was nothing." _Nothing_ was Genevieve, looking radiant and exceptionally perky, handing over his coffee with a smile and a _"Did you have a good time with Jared?"_

Misha clicks his tongue. "Didn't sound like nothing."

"What didn't sound like nothing?" Chris asks from the doorway, a coffee in each hand.

"Nothing sounded like nothing," Jensen says, but Misha overrides him with, "Jensen had a date with Basketball Moose."

Chris's eyes widen. "The guy from Saturday?" He brings Jensen one of the cups and takes the other chair. "Wow, you moved in fast on that one."

"I didn't—" Jensen squeezes his eyes shut, counts to three, and tries again. "It wasn't a date. Turns out Dani was on a date with Jared's friend Genevieve. We both happened to be the buffer."

Misha rushes to fill in the gaps. "Realizing Danneel could handle her own, you turned your attention to Jared. His soft, boyish beauty belied the raw, natural strength of his chiseled physique. Unable to resist, the two of you stumbled into the nearest alley in a fit of passion." He finishes with a flourish.

Chris is snickering into his cup, long hair hiding his face. Jensen has two options here: one, deny it — and suffer persistent mockery for the remainder of the week; or two, go with it, and suffer only occasional teasing.

"Yes," he deadpans. "That's exactly how it happened."

"I knew it," Misha says. He crosses his leg and adopts a serious expression. "So tell me: is he as strong as he looks? Do you like that in a man? Who was on top? Not that it matters, I'm just trying to imagine it."

Chris is laughing like a hyena now, trying to balance his coffee while bent over the arm of his chair. Jensen buries his face in his hands with a groan and tries not to die.

"Trying to imagine what?" Jeffrey Dean Morgan rumbles, poking his head through the door.

"The tableau of Jensen making love to his enormous boyfriend," Misha explains, grinning at their boss like this discussion isn't a huge office faux-pas.

Jensen thinks he might actually be clinically dead for a minute — but Jeffrey Dean calls him back, the sadist. "Oh, you've met someone, have you? That's wonderful; I was starting to think you were becoming a monk."

"Doesn't anyone have any work to do?" Jensen demands, barely keeping the desperation out of his voice.

Mercifully, Jeffrey Dean is an awesome boss. "All right, all right," he urges, waving Misha and Chris out the door. "We can all talk about this later. At length," he promises with a wink. It progresses to a boisterous laugh when Jensen scowls.

They shut the door behind them, and Jensen spends the next five minutes banging his head against the desk.

***

Thursday and Friday pass in a blur. It isn't a quick, busy blur, though. No, it's a slow, painful blur chock-full of heavy-handed reminders that Jared is a lying scumbag who is going to lose his potential boyfriend before they are even solid enough to warrant a messy breakup.

Jared's clumsier than usual: spilling milk cartons, slipping on wet floors, dropping bagels when he takes them out of the toaster. After he ends up wearing someone's chai latte, Samantha sends him into the back so he doesn't hurt himself.

"But there are sharp things in the back," he protests.

"Take five," she orders, "sort it out. I've got your register until then."

"Sorry," Jared mumbles, shuffling to where Gen is re-stocking.

"Oh, sweetie," she says, taking in his soiled apron. "The Jensen thing?"

Turns out he's a regular; Jensen and Misha stop for coffee together every morning, and now they specifically try to get Gen's register. Like Jared doesn't already have to listen to Gen go on and on about how awesome Danneel was or how soft her lips are, now he gets daily reports on how hot Jensen looks, too. You know, when Gen manages to stop talking about Danneel. Which was virtually never.

He tried getting her back by bragging about how soft Jensen's lips are, but that escalated to a place neither one of them sought to revisit. They'd been in the middle of a debate over whose partner had tastier nipples when Samantha walked in, gave them a steel-laced _"Really?"_ and that was the end of that.

"… and how my skin is pebbled with star-drops, whatever that means. Misha's weird."

Jared starts, belatedly realizing that Gen has been nattering. "Right, totally weird."

She gives him a sympathetic look. "Jay, don't worry about it. You'll come clean in person on Saturday. You'll be in a public place, plenty of room for buffer space or angry stalking away or whatever is going to happen. You'll work it out."

Jared hopes so. When he's not petrified that Jensen is going to murder him, he's picturing them curled up together on Jen's leather couch, wrapped up in that knit blanket, watching television.

***

Saturday is a disaster.

He forgets to change his phone's alarm and wakes up late. He turns the hot water knob a smidgen too far and releases Satan through the shower nozzle. He nearly drives into someone's car door in his haste to beat the traffic. By the time he gets to City Hill Park, the guys are waiting on him and there is just no classy way to punctuate that with a private confession.

Also, turns out he _sucks_ at basketball. Really, _really_ sucks. If this were high school, he'd be laughed off the team and wedgied in the locker room. They're all adults, though, so they just heckle him good-naturedly.

"Better luck next time, son," Chris laughs, slapping him on the back.

"It's a terrible stereotype," Jared argues, dropping onto the bench. "Just because someone's really tall doesn't automatically mean they're good at basketball. I'm under a lot of pressure here."

Tom and Mike laugh it off, calling him a waste of vertical advantage. The other team — comprised of Milo, Steve, Aldis, Mark, and Richard — doesn't seem to mind one bit.

"Feel free to keep playing," Aldis invites. "This will be the easiest tournament ever won."

"Don't get cocky," Jensen warns him. "We've got until November."

The stakes for the "tournament" are whichever team wins at least five of the nine Saturdays has to pick up a bar tab. Apparently this is terrible, because as Chris puts it, _"We drink like it's gonna be taken away from us."_

The other guys exchange goodbyes and drift away, until only Jared and Jensen remain on the court. Jared wonders if this happened by accident or design; Chris had been shooting him knowing glances all morning.

"So," his maybe-boyfriend begins, scuffing his sneaker against the pavement, "Mike was right: playing with you is like trying to corral an angry moose. Misha said you were supposed to be good?"

Jared dies a little inside and glances up. Jensen's sporting a tiny smile, which takes the heat out of the statement. "Well, you know," Jared shrugs, "Misha's not really a sports guy."

"No," Jensen agrees, and then he drops the ball into Jared's lap. "I am, though. I could teach you a thing or two?"

The ball is cold and pebbly under his fingers. Jared stands up and passes it to Jensen. "Let's do it."

Turns out training montages don't happen in real life. It doesn't help that Jared's mind isn't really on the lessons. Every time Jensen opens his mouth, all Jared can think of is the way he opened up on Wednesday night. Jared knows that Jensen loves photography and sports and has gone bungee-jumping four times. He knows that Jensen is assertive but shy and prefers small gatherings with people he knows versus strangers at parties. He's close to his parents and would kill for his baby sister.

Damn it. Sucking face or no sucking face, Jared had no reason to put this off for so long. He rectifies it immediately, grabbing Jensen from behind and hauling him close.

"Dude!" Jensen laughs as the ball bounces once, twice, and rolls away. "You can't tackle in basketball."

There's no one paying attention, so Jared dips and kisses him softly behind the ear. "I have to tell you something."

Jensen stills, as though he can sense the weight of importance. "What?"

Jared lets him go so they can face each other. Jen's eyes have gone from open to guarded. Jared's stomach sinks at the uncertainty but he speaks anyway. "I'm really, really sorry that I waited so long to come clean with you. It wasn't because I wanted to keep lying. It's just because I liked you — from the moment I laid eyes on you, I liked you. Seriously," he stresses with his hands, "I regained consciousness and you were there. And I was like, holy shit he's hot, I wonder if he'd like me, would—"

"Jared," Jensen cuts in, sternly.

He steels himself. "Right, so the point is, I'm not. Um. I'm not Misha's friend. Or even Misha's friend of a friend. In fact, all I know about Misha is that he's great at improv and thinks stars are made of water."

Jensen has taken a step back at this point, looking somewhere between perplexed and pissed. "Excuse me?"

Jared laces his fingers together to prevent them from shaking. "When Harley tripped me, I was just running in the park. I'm not a replacement for your basketball team, I'm just some random guy."

Jensen's face has gone expressionless now. A muscle in his jaw is working. "So why did you say you were Misha's replacement?"

"To see you again," Jared admits. "I couldn't think of an in with you. I went with that stupid idea so I could get your number." God, it sounds stupider every time he voices it.

Jensen certainly seems to agree. He folds his arms and gives Jared a stony glare. "Oh, because I obviously wouldn't give you the time of day otherwise? You think I'm some kind of snob? You played me," he adds softly, looking even more pissed with the realization. "Like a goddamned pick-up artist."

"No!" Jared protests — a mite too loudly, judging from the pigeon-feeders glancing their way. "No, no, it wasn't like that. It was stupid, the whole thing was stupid and my friends told me so. I just _liked you_ , and I freaked out, and I made a mistake. But I'm not that kind of guy at all, believe me."

"Why didn't you straighten things out on Wednesday?" Jensen demands, voice dripping venom.

And oh, fuck — Jared's caught. His eyes widen and he freezes, watching Jen get angrier with each passing second. He wants to say something, wants to find the words that will explain that away, but they don't come. His memory is of warm skin and wet kisses and not wanting the fantasy to end.

"Right," Jensen says, tone clipped. He marches back to the bench and grabs his bag.

This snaps Jared out of his stupor. "Jen," he tries, hurrying after him. "Jen, please wait." He grabs Jensen's elbow, which turns out to be a terrible idea. Jensen spins around, his face a myriad of expressions — hurt and betrayal and _I-am-going-to-hit-you._

Jensen yanks his arm back. "You had all of Wednesday night to tell me. All Thursday and Friday. Or did you want a notch on your belt before embarrassing me?"

Now Jared's offended, stepping back and putting his fists on his hips. "Hey, come on! You know that's not the kind of guy I am; that's not fair. It was nothing like that, I said. I wanted to tell you. I just … we had such a great time together, and I didn't want … I mean." He exhales, defeated.

"You don't get it, do you, Jared?" Jensen looks a little crestfallen somewhere behind all the anger and pride. "You really don't." He hefts his bag and starts walking.

Jared lets him go. He watches until Jensen is out of sight, trying not to feel stung when the other man doesn't even glance back at him. Then he mopes for a bit, shooting ten baskets and sinking only two.

The thing is, he _does_ get it. He understands the layers of potential FUBAR here. So he's going to give Jensen some time to calm down and process.

And then he's going to make it right.

***

"So you're _actually_ going to stalk him now."

Jared glares daggers at Chad from across the table and crumples up another failed missive.

"You know that shit only works in the movies, right?" Chad prods, shoveling a forkful of chow mein in his mouth. "In real life, this gets real creepy real quick."

"I'm not _stalking_ him," Jared insists, biting the pen cap. "I'm just … sending him a sappy gift. Dude, I can't lose him forever because of a stupid mistake like this. The universe didn't even give me a chance to fuck up properly."

Chad rolls his eyes. "Man, I am really getting tired of being the voice of reason here. I can't wait for things to get back to normal." He sets his fork down. "So what, you're gonna hang around his office building and confront him when he comes out? Because that's not intimidating at all, Sasquatch."

Jared makes a face. "For your information, I'm going to have it delivered."

"With some roses?" Chad prompts, goofy grin on his face. "Man, I wish I could see his face."

Jared wishes he could see Jensen's face again, too. And his shoulders.

The buzzer sounds, and Chad disappears to answer. Jared tries concentrating on what to write, but when Chad returns with Gen, he's still staring at a blank page.

"Your courier is here," Gen proclaims. "Is it ready?"

"Almost," he replies, still glaring at the paper.

She fiddles with the tissue paper, but mercifully doesn't dig into the bag. "I'm sorry, Jay. I know this isn't working out the way you would like."

"I was an idiot," he sighs. "Gotta pay my dues." He decides to get straight to the point and starts scribbling.

"Well, if this works out and you get your man, you're both invited to Dani's place two Fridays from now. We're making honey-glazed ham with cloves."

Jared quirks an eyebrow at her. "Really? Domestic plans in advance, hmm?" he teases, just to watch her blush and duck her head.

She looks up and gives him a wan smile. "Dani talked to him for you. Not gonna lie, he's upset. But she says he really liked you."

"I really like him, too," Jared replies, folding the letter. "Enough to resort to romantic comedy staples."

Gen exchanges glances with Chad. "Hey, the classics still work. That's why they've been around so long."

***

Monday morning is busy as ever, and Genevieve is so occupied she doesn't notice when eight o'clock rolls around until Misha appears next in line.

"Good morrow," he says sunnily. "I'm getting Jensen's coffee because he's a big baby. And because I might owe him six months's worth of coffee for playing with his love life on a whim."

Despite her surprise, Genevieve smiles. "Hey, Misha. How's it going?"

"I am as a sakura petal on asphalt." He cocks his head. "And how are things with Danneel?"

This time she can't stop the huge smile. "Fine, more than fine. Amazingly fine." She rings up the lattes for both Misha and Jensen and hands the cups over. Then she bends to retrieve the gift bag she's been tripping over since she opened her cash. "Can you give this to him? It's from Jared," she clarifies, even though it's obvious.

Misha gives her a quizzical look, but accepts the bag before moving over to wait for the drinks.

It's not until half an hour later that things calm down enough for her to send a quick _pkg sent_ to both Jared and Dani. Jared thanks her and Dani braces for any necessary damage control.

***

"Gotta say, dude, that is actually kinda cute."

Jensen shoots Chris a glare before wrestling the _I'M SORRY_ card out of the stuffed moose's hands. The little plush doll is sitting next to his keyboard with a pink ribbon tied around its neck. It's ridiculous, is what it is.

"Very apropos," Chris goes on, appraising the gift. "The slouching, the uncertainty in the eyes, the bow … it's almost like Jared is apologizing in person."

"You need to leave now," Jensen informs him through clenched teeth.

"And he went for your weakness: coffee. Jenny, this boy knows what he wants."

"Out!" Jensen snaps, pointing to the door.

Chris leaves, but laughs the whole time, unintimidated. At least he shuts the door behind him, giving Jensen a moment of peace.

The envelope is heavy in his hands. He should just throw it out; he doesn't need this kind of grief. The first decent guy he's met in months, and Jensen discovers he operates on sitcom logic. If he'd wanted a relationship built on lies and deception, he would have stayed with David.

Finally, curiosity wins out and Jensen rips open the letter. If nothing else, he won't spend the rest of his life wondering what it said.

>   
> _Jensen,_
> 
> _It was a really shitty thing to do. I could say I did it because you're so gorgeous you made me stupid, but that's not true. I want it to be, so I could have an excuse to hide behind, but it's not. I'm an ass and I wasn't thinking and I'm really, really sorry._
> 
> _If you want, you can punch me in the face. Normally the face is off-limits but if you are willing to give me a second chance in exchange for a shot, I don't care what my nose will look like. I want to be good for you. If it means that much to me after so short a time, that's gotta say something, right?_
> 
> _No pressure at all. If I'm just projecting, or you hate me and want me to lose your number, it's okay. I'll be sad, but I understand. I just don't want you to spend the rest of your life believing I was a weird creeper._
> 
> __
> 
> Jared

The blue ink is a little smudged. Jensen pictures Jared bent over the paper, wielding a slim pen in his enormous hands. The writing is squarish and a little squiggly, and Jensen notices that Jared wrote his number beneath his signature — just in case Jensen already erased it.

He grabs his phone, opens the Contacts menu and scrolls to Jared's name. It's a scotch-induced picture, taken last Wednesday, of Jared holding a tumbler and giving a very undignified thumbs-up. The crinkle in his eyes makes Jensen's stomach twist itself into one huge, painful knot.

He exits the menu and hits number one on his speed dial.

Danneel takes four rings to pick up. _"Hi sweetie. Nice present?"_

Whatever he was going to open with dies in his throat. He taps his finger on the edge of the desk. "You sound out of breath," he observes.

 _"I am,"_ she replies truthfully. _"Gen's on break. I only answered because I assumed you were having a crisis."_

Jensen can hear a scandalized giggle in the background. "Don't get her fired."

_"She's got me against the fridge. Next time you order cream cheese, I want you to think of this moment."_

Jensen is already trying hard to forget this conversation. "Can you swing by?"

_"So there is a crisis? Sure, I can come by on my lunch."_

He glances at the clock. "Lunch?"

She sighs. _"You think I can just drop everything to come talk you through your love life? That shit only happens in the movies."_

***

When Danneel shows up at four-thirty, Jared balks. "Half-day?" he asks, because he almost doesn't want to know why Jensen's best friend has taken time off to come murder him.

She doesn't waste any time. "You threw him for quite the loop with that adorable moose." He can't read her tone or expression.

Jared swallows thickly, glad that Alona is occupied with the other cash. "Um, did he like it?"

She sighs, and Jared is relieved to see genuine concern and sympathy appear on her face. "Look, this isn't my place, but I like you, Jay. I think you're a huge dork for all this, but in the end, I think you're good for him. So I want this to work out, and I think you should know why this whole mishap of yours is a big deal."

"It is a big deal," Jared says, earnestly. "I know it's a big deal."

"Yeah," Danneel agrees, leaning over the counter. "But you don't understand why it's a _Big Deal._ " Jared can hear the capital letters, and promptly shuts up. "Before you, Jen dated some assbag named David. Long story short: David cheated on Jen for _weeks_ before he found out." She bites her lip. "He worked so much back then, he wasn't around to see the signs. So you know, your mistake was a dick move to begin with, but for him…"

"For him, it's a colossal dick move," Jared finishes. He glares down at the floor and pretends it's this Dave guy. "Okay, um. How … how is he?"

Danneel gives him a wry smile. "Confused. He likes you, Jared," she assures him. "He just, he feels like he's at a disadvantage here, you know?"

And suddenly, Jared has an idea. "Alona!" he calls, taking off his apron. "Emergency, I gotta go."

She looks stunned, but waves him off when she catches the look on his face. Danneel looks stunned, too, eyes wide as she falls into step alongside him.

"Where are you going?"

"To get my second chance," he quips, heading out back to grab his bike.

***

Jared sort of had an idea about how this would all play out. However, his imagination has got nothing on the universe's.

In retrospect, this is even better, because now it isn't like he was taking a page out of some hokey playbook.

He knows where Kripke & Morgan is. Even in the beginnings of rush hour traffic, it doesn't take him too long to get there. He's scanning the building's entrance as he putters along, wanting to catch a glimpse of Jensen.

And he does.

It's so perfect, Jared gapes. He looks a little tired, but he's still gorgeous, impeccably dressed, standing outside talking to Misha and some other guys, and — and he's _holding the gift bag._

Jared's heart jumps all the way up his throat, but he'll never know if that was because of _Jensen_ , or if that's what happens when a car backs into your front wheel, knocking you over the hood of a parked car and into a meter.

Jared sees stars, but he doesn't black out. He sort of wishes he had, because that really fucking hurt. He can hear some commotion — _"Fucking cyclists!"_ and _"Nice shoulder-check, jackass!"_ — and then an older man with a salt-and-pepper beard is staring down at him.

"You all right, son?"

"Uhn, yeah," Jared manages, sitting up. He rubs his neck with a wince, and spies Chris walking his bike onto the sidewalk.

"Shit, son," the stocky man says. "You've got nine lives or something. You hurt?"

Jared blinks away some of the confusion. "I don't think so." He glances over at the driver, who is yelling at Misha. "I should—"

"Let him," the older man assures him, holding out a hand. When Jared accepts and is pulled up with alarming strength, the man hands him a card. "You decide you want to press charges, consider us."

Jared looks down at the name. _Morgan, Jeffrey D._ Wow. "Um, thank you. Don't think there's any damage, though." He scans the area, eyes falling on Jensen. He's maintained a distance but looks worried. Jared flashes Mr. Morgan a winning smile. "Gimme one sec."

Jensen's laying into him the moment he gets close enough. "What the hell, Jared? Weren't you watching where you were going? You could have been really hurt! What are you even doing here?"

Jared forestalls any further ranting by holding out his hand. "I came here to start over. Hi, I'm Jared. I'm twenty-four, I love candy, and I think you're amazing. Could I get your number?"

Jensen blinks at him. His gaze flickers down to Jared's hand when he wiggles his fingers. After a moment, Jensen caves and shakes.

Jared has the urge to just tug him forward, but you generally don't kiss after the first handshake.

***

Jared waits until the door is locked before breaking down into delighted laughter. "God, did you _see them_ tonight?" He yanks off his burgundy pullover, throwing it over one of the kitchen chairs while pulling at his undershirt to straighten it.

Jensen's already rooting through his fridge for beer. "How much you wanna bet we're their best men inside a year?"

"No way, man," Jared scoffs, eyeing the way Jen's ribbed white crew-neck hugs his trim waist. "I never make bets when it's obvious I'll lose."

"No?" Jensen muses, closing the fridge with two beers in hand. He stops short and stares.

"What?" Jared asks, smiling as he advances. "Something on my face?" It's been two weeks, things between them are amazing, and Jared happens to know he looks damn good in a white undershirt. He spends a lot of time on his arms.

"No," Jensen says again, but this time it's evasive. Or maybe not so evasive, judging from the way he sets the beers on the counter out of the way.

Jared's trying to go for predatory, but he's just too damned happy so he just keeps grinning as he saunters over. "Hey," he manages.

"Hi," Jensen smiles back. Then he reaches out and oh yeah, the face-grabbing.

Jared makes good on his promise, shoving Jensen against the fridge, sending magnets flying and leaving pictures askew. The kiss tastes like honey and cloves, with a hint of wine. Jensen's fingers press into his cheeks and one of them makes a sound — a desperate, moaning sound — and Jared realizes he's starting to push Jensen _into_ the fridge.

He changes the game, spinning them around and sitting Jensen on the island. Jensen doesn't protest the manhandling; he barely even manages to release Jared's lips long enough to take his sweater off. Jared sighs happily, slipping his hands down the back of Jensen's gray slacks and pulling them closer together. Jensen's running his hands along Jared's biceps, squeezing the muscle.

Abruptly, he pulls away. "Come on," he orders a frazzled Jared, sliding off the island and leading the way to the bedroom.

Jared's seen the bedroom before. It's full of blues and grays and modern furniture. But he's never been _in_ the bedroom, and now nervousness, desire, and affection all war for his attention at once.

"Jared?" Jensen ventures. He's standing by the bed, looking uncertain.

Jared spies the stuffed moose sitting on the nightstand. His heart bursts, overriding everything else. He goes to Jensen, gathers him up, and kisses him as long and as deeply as he can.

"I'm glad you gave me another chance," he whispers.

Jensen's hands tighten around his back. "So am I," he admits. "Even if you suck at basketball."

Jared feigns offense. "Come on. I'm good at lots of other stuff."

Jensen grins and squirms in his arms. "Show me."

And, well, that's not the sort of request a guy refuses.

~End.


End file.
